you I would bring him back. I failed.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “For what happened to you at Waterloo.”
“Sorauren,” he breathed. “I lost my face at Sorauren.”
“That was four years ago.” She had only found out when people began whispering about him, referring to Ashby as “the Gargoyle of Mayfair.” “Will never mentioned—”
“That I’d become hideous? Will was a saint. He never gossiped about his friends. He made them feel human, even when there was nothing human left in them.”
Staring deep into his anguished, burning eyes, her heart welled with compassion. “Lord Ashby, you are the kindest, gentlest, most generous man I’ve ever known. I don’t believe you could ever lose your humanity.”
“You’d be surprised.”
His harsh words sent an unpleasant shiver through her. “I know bleakness and despair, my lord, but I discovered that by helping others—people less fortunate than I—one heals oneself.”
“I’m thrilled you’ve found your golden path, but not every method works for everyone.”
Before he turned away, she said, “Have you ever seen a child light up with joy at the sight of a hot meal or when he is warm again or when he sees his mother smiling because you helped her in some small way? You and I, we have so much to give, it is our duty to give it.”
He fell silent for a moment. “What sort of help do you require of me?”
His tone didn’t guarantee his assistance, but he was curious. “Our charity board has hired a solicitor to draw up a proposal for a reform bill by which annual compensations would be paid to the aforementioned relatives, women and children, now deprived of means of sustenance.”
“When you say ‘our board,’ I presume you mean you?”
“Lady Iris Chilton, Mrs. Sophie Fairchild, and myself, yes.”
“Go on.”
“We seek an influential gentleman to champion our cause and push legislation across. As a member of the House, you—”
“I haven’t attended sessions in the House of Lords for a long time. Nor do I intend to begin doing so in the foreseeable future. Ergo, I am not the…champion you seek. Anything else?”
“With your power and influence, and with your connections in the War Office, you could contribute to our cause far more than anyone else without attending Parliament.”
“You are wrong, Isabel,” he said solemnly. “I have nothing to contribute to anyone.”
You have something to contribute to me, she thought glumly. An image of Ashby and Will laughing together wrenched her heart. “Perhaps…we could help each other,” she offered gently.
His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t aware I needed help.”
“You are not the only person in England this war has scarred, my lord.”
“How would you help me?” he bit out angrily. “My life is over.” He glimpsed at her lips. When his gaze touched hers, she knew with a certainty he recalled everything that had happened outside her house that long ago night. The intensity of his stare both frightened and thrilled her.
Isabel let out a shuddering breath. Alas, she’d learned her lesson where he was concerned. “You once told me you considered Will a brother. As his sister, I would be happy to—”
“Don’t—patronize me,” he growled, staring at her as though she had slapped him. “I’m not one of your bloody charity cases! If I were the man I was four years ago, you’d be thoroughly compromised by now.”
Isabel flinched, taken aback by the force of his fury. “Forgive me. I never—”
“Go home, Isabel, and don’t come back here ever again. The Gargoyle deserves neither your pity nor your ridicule.” He strode out of the sitting room, dismissing her altogether.
“Did I not instruct that no one was to be admitted inside this house?” The enraged bellow would send rats scurrying into holes in the walls, if there were any. Furious, Ashby pounded up the stairs, cursing under his breath. Damn that chit! Why did she have to burst into his life again?
Hurrying after him, Phipps gasped, “She threatened me with bodily harm, my lord.”
Ashby turned around so abruptly, his butler nearly tumbled down the stairs. “And another thing—didn’t I specifically tell you to keep the drapes drawn at all times?”
Phipps gripped the handrail, wheezing. “You did, my lord, but I couldn’t very well admit Miss Aubrey into a dark room, could I?”
“You shouldn’t have admitted her in the first place, you…abject meddler!” His temples throbbing, Ashby reached the second floor and headed for his bedchamber. He needed to…smash something, anything, to get the image of Isabel Aubrey standing in a halo of sunlight out of his head. Christ, had she changed! He’d hardly recognized her. Little Izzy was a beautiful doll with shining eyes and ribbons in her hair. The full-grown woman he’d just met was…heart-wrenching. Perhaps it wasn’t the nicest compliment a gentleman ever paid a lady, but that was exactly how it felt, seeing that vision of femininity brightening his parlor, her exquisite oval face framed with soft, sunny tendrils, her perfect pink lips parted in astonishment, her tall, lissome, shapely figure ripe for plucking. He couldn’t believe she actually suggested he consider her a sister. She didn’t think of him as a brother that long ago night, when he was young and whole. Bloody, bloody hell. She made him feel like a relic, a doddering old man broken beyond repair, when what he ached to do was finish that kiss she had begun seven years ago.
Ashby ripped the mask from his face and threw it over his shoulder, knowing his shadow would be there to catch it. “Is there a specific reason you’re tailing me around my own house? I assure you, I am perfectly capable of finding my way around.”
“I should like to clarify, if I may, that Dudley was all against impersonating you, my lord.”
Ashby snorted with disgust. “Where the devil is that intrepid valet of mine?”
“Gone into hiding, my lord.”
“Good. Keep him there.” Entering his bedchamber, Ashby strode to his dresser and pulled out a drawer. He rummaged around it, but didn’t find what he was looking for. Phipps coughed. Annoyed, Ashby glared at him. “Why are you still in my doorway, huffing and puffing?”
“I’d be in a much better form were I required to admit callers on occasion, my lord.”
“You’d be in a much better form if instead of putting on charades, you ran this household proficiently.” Ashby pulled out the second drawer and continued his search. Unsuccessfully.
Watching his master methodically take his dresser apart, Phipps said meekly, “Most men would be in a happier state of mind after an impromptu visit from a pretty butterfly, my lord.”
“A butterfly!” Ashby smirked. “She and her maid have all but done away with you.”
Phipps
